


The Art of Deduction

by TheUniversalTruth



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Fluff, M/M, idek, lots of pining, possiblesmut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-26 23:56:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5025664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUniversalTruth/pseuds/TheUniversalTruth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teenlock</p><p>BRAND NEW BOOK!!<br/>The Unorthodox Excelled Academy of Hammersmith London, is a school for those with something...special. Nothing impossible like magic or paranormal abilities, but nothing ordinary either. Most say extraordinary. </p><p>John Hamish Watson is what appears to everyone, your average 16 year old. Certainly not one of the prestigious geniuses who attend the academy. That is until Bartholomew Withers, or Master Withers, the reclusive and cryptic headmaster of  The Acedemy, finds John in a, compromising, situation after school one day. In atonement for Master Withers silence, John reluctantly agrees to attend the school at Master Wither's request. He soon finds himself in the heart of action with a mysteriously gorgeous roommate, a morbid mystery, and a heartbreaking home life. Follow John as he discovers friendship, passion, mystery, sadness, and possibly love.</p><p>A/N So, ps guys the setting for the story (Hammersmith London) is the birth place of  The Benedict Cumberbatch</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Deduction

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Flashback~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "William, you utter arse, I will hang you for this! Get this ruddy thing out of my closet." Victor yelled, standing at the top of the creaky black staircase of The Unorthodox Excelled Academy of Hammersmith London, more comonly referred to as, The Acedemy. William Sherlock Scott Holmes was sitting in one of the plush violet chairs in the sitting room on the floor below. He sat with his back straight, and a violin resting carefully upon his shoulder blade and under his chin. He grinned, and played away with a newfound gusto. Because he had recently turned 11, Master Withers had alllowed him to finally get a present that he'd been refused since he first joined the acedemy at 8 years old. This gift was now chewing through all of his older roomate, Thomas Victor Trevor's, brand new shoes. Victor was the year above Sherlock, but that didn't matter. The two were as close as brothers, maybe even closer. Sherlock had been smitten since the day he first arrived at the academy with his older brother, and pushed open the door to the messy room he was to share with his new roomate. Victor hadn't held out his hand for Sherlock to shake (which Sherlock had been thankful for), but howled with laughter as he climbed from tall cascading tree, and into the room from an open window. Victor was built slightly stocky, and a bit shorter then Sherlock. His hair was strawberry blond, and he had so many freckles that Sherlock couldn't even count them all. "I'm Thomas Victor Trevor, but I go by Victor. I think It's more unique. More interesting. Life is quite dull when you play by the rules. You must be Sherlock." Victor said as he jumped from the window, to the bed, and landed on the hard wood floor before Sherlock. Sherlock stared at him for a moment, like a bewildered animal, before smiling (for the first time in quite a while) and nodding before adding, "Call me William. I don't like dull either." Victor was still calling Sherlock, William, three years later; now that Sherlock was eleven and he was twelve. He was running into the drawing room with his usual aura of mischief and unrulyness. Sherlock had put aside his violin, and was already scrambling gracefully towards the other side of the room. He was too slow for Trevor, however, and couldn't stop him from tackling Sherlock to the ground. Both of their frames were shaking with laughter, and their faces were flushed and happy. Mycroft was walking past the open entrance, and glanced at Trevor contemptfully. He'd advised Sherlock to stay away from him, and shunned Trevor like a disease. Sherlock had shrugged off Mycroft's unease, and blamed it on his jealousy that Trevor had been a better brother the past three years then in all of Mycroft's eight put together. Nothing, not even Mycroft, was going to keep Sherlock from Trevor. Even the others in the acedemy said that nothing but death itself could ever pull the two apart. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ End of Flashback~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ John was walking home from school, after finishing a rugby practice. He checked behind him in the empty school lot behind the rugby field. He seemed to be the only one still out by the pitch. Perfect. He pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to the Contact labeled, Drew, "@ the pitch. Come when band ends. Can't w8 to see u" 2 minutes. 3 minutes. John checked his phone, and stared eagerly at the three dots on Drew's side of the text conversation. "B there in 5." John let out a breath of relief. He knew that they could get in a lot of trouble for what they were doing. As he paced around the pitch, he thought for the millionth time that month, what his parents might think about what he was doing. He knew people like him were frowned upon in London, but once Drew had moved in, John was powerless. He loved everything about their little arrangement, but he wanted more. He wanted things to be more then physical between them. He wanted Drew to think of him as something more then a good snog. He was pretty sure that would never happen, so he took what he could now. A figure started to move through the gloomy weather, towards where John stood. A boy with black shaggy hair, glasses, and incredibly pale skin( with the exception of a few acne splotches). John grinned. "Took you long enough." John sighed reaching for his hand. "Someone's in a mood." "Yeah well today was terrible, been waiting for you since 7th period." "A little desperate don't you think?" Drew asked, putting his arms around John's waist. "Bugger off." "Make me..." John knew he wasn't getting home till late. ************************************ Sherlock, Mycroft, Master Withers, and the rest of the school mates sat together at the table in the dining room. Because there were so few students accepted into the school, Master Withers had all of them eat together at one large table. Due to the students intense studies and varying degrees of tolerance towards one another, dinner was the only required meal. They were free to take, or not take, breakfast and lunch as they liked. Master Withers was sitting at the head of the table, cutting a steak. Sherlock watched carefully as the practiced hands sawed the knife back and forth between the metal fork prongs. As he looked closer Sherlock could tell from the twitch in his face and the slight shift of his eyes, he had something to tell. Or perhaps something to hide, it was still undecided. Sherlock decided to decide for him. "So what was it you were meaning to tell us..?" Master Withers didn't look up from his white plate, now filled with sauce. "You're getting slow Mycroft." "Or perhaps I simply have more manners then my brother dear." "Yes. And considerably more weight.", Sherlock shot back. "Yes, that's because I actually eat unlike you." "Are you two going to banter through dinner or would you like me to tell you my news?" Master Withers cut in with a pointed glance. Silence fell over the table. "Just as I thought. I do in fact have some interesting news. I think it will effect you in particular Sherlock." Sherlock studied the old man's face intently, hanging off every word. "We will be having a new member soon, and they are to room with Sherlock." Sherlock groaned audibly, Mycroft snorted for the poor soul, Mike chuckled, Anderson cackled, and Molly choked on her sip of water before she could get it down. "Yes. Well, I must be off to inform the young one before he heads home. He has gotten into a weird habit of hanging late at the football pitch." "He plays football?" "Yes." Master Withers said simply, staring into Sherlock's burning blue eyes. "And he's rooming with me." "Yes." "Don't you think he'd be better suited with someone of a lower intelligence... Like Anderson...or someone." "If I wasn't smart, I wouldn't be here!" Anderson cried, his round weasley face turning beet red. "Yes, we know you're pretty, but I honestly don't think having them room with me is a good idea. I'd say everyone else here has better people skills! Even Anderson!" "Sherlock." Mycroft said quietly in a warning voice. "It's alright Mycroft," Master Wither's said, giving him an assuring glance, "I expected you to react this way, and I understand, but I was sure that you of all people, Sherlock, could figure out that that is precisely why I paired him with you. You need to work on your people skills. Honestly, I believe you're quite brilliant on practically all topics until it comes to yourself, sentiment, and the solar system. Then I believe that Anderson could teach you quite a bit." With that the old man stood and crossed out of the room. Sherlock sat seething while the others displayed varying emotions. Master Wither's could hear Sherlock as the door swung shut behind him, muttering something along the lines of, "Bloody solar system! Why does it even concern me? Emotions only bring me down, and I know more then I'd like about myself thanks..."


End file.
